The Tangled Web She Weaves
by Cleo the Muse
Summary: The Dark Goddess Lolth has always had great plans for her people. Unfortunately for her, she never counted on getting caught in her own twisted web of deceit!
1. Chapter One

**The Tangled Web She Weaves**

The Time of Troubles was not unanticipated.

In fact, many of the gods, including Mystra, Bhaal, Selûne, and Shar, were well aware that something serious and potentially dangerous would happen soon. For many of the deities of Faerûn, "soon" could mean in the next second or the next millenia, but the dark powers allied with Bane and Myrkul in their grab for power, knew that "soon" meant within that same century--what the humans of Faerûn referred to as the 14th century DR. Scarcely did the evil deities of Toril and its Planes converse, but word was passed from Bane to Loviatar to Malar and eventually to Lolth.

The wicked Spider Queen, chief goddess of the evil drow elves of the Underdark of Toril, had been conspiring for thousands of years to gain even a fraction of the power accorded to the deities of the surface races, and her plans to secure the power of spellfire for her own worshipers had had a critical success. By cunning and craft, Lolth stole the gift of spellfire from a wild elf child it was destined for and spirited it away to the Abyss. Upon learning that the exile of gods would occur "soon," Lolth decided to secure the volatile power from her enemies the only way she believed possible: give it to a drow child.

_Faerzress_, the mysterious magic of the Underdark, functioned in strange ways, and Lolth was not certain if spellfire would work properly in the lightless world her worshippers called home, so she immediately ruled out giving the power to a promising female child. (After all, she always needed all the clerics and priestesses she could get.) But would giving the spellfire to a commoner be feasible?

Finally, Lolth decided that the power of the spellfire would go to a male child of noble birth. As a general rule, Lolth despised males, but found the occassional one useful for means beyond siring children. The many wizards of Sshamath were among the most powerful males of Lolth's realm, as were Gromph Baenre and Jalynfein of Menzoberranzan. Despite the undisputed magical talents of the males of the larger city of Sshamath, Lolth fervently decided against choosing a child of a city not ruled by a proper matriarchy. Ched Nasad hadn't any recently-born noble males of sufficient rank and intelligence for the task, so her demonic gaze fell to Menzoberranzan.


	2. Chapter Two

As it so happened, the very next day (as mortals reckoned time) was the Festival of the Founding. The faithful drow of that city celebrated the Festival in honor of Menzoberra, the priestess who had the strength of will to form the city so many centuries before. As her own special way of seeing what level of fear her subjects and worshippers held for her, Lolth visited Menzoberranzan in physical form for the Festival. Rarely did she appear as a drow, for it amused her to see the too-proud nobles of the many houses humbling themselves before ordinary kobolds, goblins, and duergar.

Menzoberranzan was a larger city than Ched Nasad, so it was hardly surprising that there were more male children of suitable age. First and foremost was Berg'inyon Baenre, youngest child of the First House of that city. A mere eleven years old, Berg'inyon was still a page prince to his large family. Chaos however, was what Lolth and her worshippers thrived on, so she sought a child of a lesser house to upset the balance of power. Third House, Oblodra, had a male of sixteen, but the talents of the Oblodrans ran to psionics, and their loyalty to their goddess was less than zealous. The adopted daughter of the Fourth House, Fini'they Faen Tlabbar, was expecting a male child any day now, but Lolth could hardly wait for the child's birth, nor would she give the spellfire to any child without first determining if he had any spellcasting ability.

Next, Lolth scrutinized the Fifth House, Hun'ett. Matron SiNafay's youngest son, Masoj, was into his second decade at the wizard's school of Sorcere and was quite an intriguing possibility. No other ruling house had any sons of appropriate age, so the Spider Queen's gaze fell to houses even further down the line of succession. The Matron Mother of the Ninth House, Do'Urden, had an eleven year-old son who showed great magical promise, having mastered the innate gift of levitation at the age of five. A twenty-eight year-old prodigy of magic was the current prize of the Thirteenth House, Nez-Varniss, which had just survived the succession of the eldest daughter following the former matron's death. Finally--for Lolth would look no lower than fifteenth--she noted a twelve year-old male named Kelnozz, nephew of the matron of the Fifteenth House and therefore a commoner, but showing considerable signs of intelligence and cunning nevertheless.

All this observation and consideration took the deity no more than a second by a mortal's reckoning. Berg'inyon Baenre was still her first choice, with Masoj Hun'ett, Drizzt Do'Urden, Hezeth Nez-Varniss, and Kelnozz of House Kenafin following closely. Rarely did Lolth do anything with any sense of order, but she understood that she had more to gain--and less to lose--by choosing the recipient of the stolen spellfire as meticulously as possible.

Her observation of House Baenre took barely over an hour. Already the most powerful house of Menzoberranzan, Baenre had little to gain by adding another wizard to their ranks. Gromph Baenre, the elderboy, was the city's Archmage and the master of Sorcere. Berg'inyon himself showed only nominal aptitude for the arcane arts, and would likely be relegated to study under his elder brother, Weapon Master Dantrag. The spellfire would not go to Berg'inyon, she decided. _What better way to stir up chaos in the city than to grant great powers to a lesser family?_

Masoj Hun'ett took several hours to watch. His talent with spells was obvious and his ambition was great: already this one had murdered his older brother, the Faceless One, and placed an imposter in his stead! The imposter was Alton DeVir of No-House-Worth-Mentioning, the only surviving member of an otherwise perfect coup by House Do'Urden. Masoj, now in his fifteenth year, was halfway through his tenure at Sorcere and would join the ranks of wizards of the city after his graduation and term of service in the city patrols.

After such a positive outlook for the Hun'ett son, the page prince of House Do'Urden was almost a let-down. His sire was the often-blasphemous weapon master, Zaknafein, and the boy showed some of the same spirit as his parent. Zaknafein's daughter Vierna, however, would soon become a high priestess and was as properly devout and fearful as Lolth could want. Perhaps the blood of the father didn't run true? Young Drizzt did exhibit signs of a keen intelligence and would likely be trained to replace his slain brother Nalfein as the family wizard.

Hezeth Nez-Varniss was excluded almost immediately. Lolth discerned that the elderboy of the Thirteenth House held in his thoughts a preference for the worship of Ghaundahaur over herself. Smiling wickedly, the Queen of Spiders emblazoned the purple, violet, and black eye of Ghaundahaur on one of the rebel wizard's belongings and moved on to her final candidate, confident that the disruption to her authority would soon be eradicated.

Kelnozz of House Kenafin was clever and ambitious, possessing a reasonable amount of magical aptitude of his own. A mere cousin of the noble family, he had little chance of being accorded a position of any power within either his house or the city, though. When compared to the likes of Masoj Hun'ett or even Drizzt Do'Urden, his intelligence and worth were of a caliber hardly worth considering.

Her choice now a clear decision between the sons of the Fifth House and the Ninth House, Lolth prepared herself to pay a visit to Masoj Hun'ett and Sorcere in the morning before making her customary appearance in the city as a bowlegged goblin, an unkempt duergar, or some other disguise. She disliked the wait, aware that the doom the gods feared was fast approaching (as the gods reckoned time), but the narrowing of her will to encompass a simple mortal form was tiring and left her entire realm without the means to contact their goddess. Her Handmaidens, the demonic yochlols, were capable of handling the day-to-day needs of the drow race, but manipulative Lolth preferred to handle many things herself.

If only the surface gods would allow her to handle things personally more often.

The dark goddess seethed. Oh, how the Seldarine, the gods of the elven pantheon, would rage when their precious elves were consumed by the flames of spellfire! Such a thought was so immensely pleasing, she considered dispatching a yochlol to the wizards of Sshamath and demanding they make an immediate magical strike on the surface elves. Before the thought became action, though, another aspect of herself reminded her that her own people were not likely to survive such an assault. Lolth had long discovered that the magic wielded by her drow children didn't function as it should on the surface of Toril. Perhaps later, when her plans were complete, she would send the Hun'ett child to the surface. Spellfire was raw magical energy, and would work magnificently above-ground.

Her ire quieted in a rare moment of doubt. But would spellfire survive _faerzress_ untainted? It was essential that she believe it would.


	3. Chapter Three

At that moment, a yochlol subtly brought to her attention the summons of Matron Malice of House Do'Urden. The ambitious matron of the Ninth House of Menzoberranzan was asking the Handmaiden for a means to detect the Dagger of Menzoberra! Lolth's lips turned up in a cruel smile. The Dagger had been searched for many times in the four thousand and more years it had lain hidden, yet none had brought the sacred weapon of the city's founder back.

Sensing the mirth and approval of the goddess, the yochlol answered the summons, taking with it a spiderjewel, one of many enchanted to locate the concealed Dagger. Many supplicants had tried and many had failed, Lolth recalled, and the prize was so close to them all! Perhaps if House Do'Urden did, indeed, find the Dagger of Menzoberra, she would reward their tenacity and bestow the power of spellfire upon the child Drizzt.

Just then, a long-anticipated struggle between the first and second houses of Ched Nasad broke out, and Lolth turned her deific attention to far more fascinating matters. She placed the matter of the Dagger at the back of her vast consciousness, telling herself she would turn her attention once more if House Do'Urden got anywhere near the fabled blade.

So beautifully executed was the demise of No-House-Worth-Mentioning, the former First House of Ched Nasad, that Lolth let her attention shift from the affairs of Menzoberranzan. Time was both so slow and yet so swift when viewed as a mortal would see, that by the time her gaze returned to the spiderjewel she'd given Malice Do'Urden, much time had passed, and it was already the day of the Festival of the Founding.

The bearer of the spiderjewel was none other than Zaknafein Do'Urden. Lolth frowned when she saw him emerging from the Pillar of Narbondel without the Dagger in hand. Had he seen the Dagger and decided to leave it? If so, the blasphemous drow deserved to have his heart roasted in the sacrificial fires! But, as she watched, the weapon master removed the spiderjewel from his neckpurse. To her amazement, the spider pointed toward the edge of the city!

If the Spider Queen had but taken the effort, she could have adjusted the flow of time to watch the disappearance of the artifact. Hasty as she was, she narrowed her focus, instead, locating the missing Dagger far faster than the weapon master of House Do'Urden could. She couldn't help but chuckle when she found it resting in the hands of the page prince, Drizzt Do'Urden. At the boy's feet was the scrying bowl owned by the Ninth House, and she understood that the boy had somehow seen the Dagger in the water and pulled it out.

It took several minutes to create a suitable corporeal drow form and transfer a single aspect of her mind to it, but she was soon whisked away to--of all places--a storeroom. Outside the pantry, she could hear sounds of breaking pottery, and a simple spell of scrying (for such things were necessary in mortal form) revealed the young page prince held at swordpoint by the weapon master. When Drizzt was allowed to speak, he told Zaknafein how he had gotten the Dagger.

Lolth's lips peeled back. This child had spirit! Though she disliked such a trait in males, it often made for a far more gifted wizard or warrior later on, a fact for which his sire was clear evidence. But even the goddess of the dark elves, who had seen so many talented fighters come and go, couldn't believe it when Drizzt--a mere child--successfully fended off one of House Do'Urden's sentinel spiders.

"Warrior or wizard?" she mused to herself, but the boy's intelligence and resourcefulness had already decided things for her. "Let Masoj Hun'ett go about his studies," she muttered, dismissing the scrying spell. "Drizzt Do'Urden will wield spellfire!"

The door to the storeroom opened and the page prince was shoved inside by his sire. Though he pleaded to be allowed to help Zaknafein fight the sentinels, he grudgingly closed and locked the storeroom door.

"Hello, Drizzt Do'Urden," Lolth said, changing her eye color in a fit of pique to match the outrageous hue of the young dark elf's glowing orbs. Lavender, of all colors!

"I should be out there helping him," the boy declared, after gaping at her a long moment. "I'm going to be a warrior one day, you know."

Lolth did her best to laugh in a manner that would be pleasing to Drizzt's ears, and not the cruel cackle she felt like unleashing. A warrior? She had far greater things in store for this one! "Oh, yes," she replied, as though agreeing. "I know. But your place right now is here, Dagger Bearer."

"How do you know me?" he asked.

"I know many things," she replied cryptically. But she did not know if the boy had the gift to become as powerful a wizard as she desired.

"I'm not... I'm not afraid of spiders, you know," he said, eyeing her gown of living spiders.

The Spider Queen smiled. "Truly? Then come closer, child." Unable to resist the power of a deity personified, the boy was drawn forward to her grasp, and with one hand on his shoulder, she delved deep into Drizzt's mind.

She nearly shuddered with revulsion when she touched the guileless innocence of the young drow. Despite ten years under the careful scrutiny of his elder sister and an entire year as page prince, the boy still had not the proper mind of a drow! Still, he had plenty of courage and more than enough intelligence and agility to become as talented a swordsman as his father... if not better!

"But does he have a gift with magic?" she asked herself aloud. Drizzt, enthralled by the goddess' gaze, didn't hear her.

Lolth nearly gasped when she touched the child's Thread--the magical line that connected all creatures to the mystical Weave. In most drow, even those who were talented spellcasters, the Thread was a tiny strand, visible to few who were not deities. Drizzt--the confusing young page prince--was connected to the Weave by _rope_. A thick cord of magical energy ran from the child's aura, indicating a channel through which the boy would one day be able to tap into the Weave directly.

Directly! This was a far greater talent for magic than she could have achieved by design.

Aware that the fight outside had come to an end, Lolth reached into her realm in the Abyss and withdrew the tiny silver spark that would one day mature into true spellfire. Without hesitation, she nestled the spark into the boy's mind and withdrew.

Drizzt blinked, unaware that any time had passed. "I'm not," he repeated. "I'm not even afraid of those big spiders in the hall."

"With a weapon such as that Dagger in your hand, I can see why," she replied. "But it is time the Dagger was given to me. Matron Malice will be glad you did."

She expected him, for all his spirit and stubbornness, to question her possession of the Dagger of Menzoberra, but he did not. Instead, he flipped the weapon over and handed it to her hilt first. Such blind obedience was surely a good sign, she thought to herself, and stepped back from the young elf.

_Let House Do'Urden know they were visited by their Lady "Lloth" on this day,_ she smiled to herself. She returned to her throne across the Planes, ignoring Drizzt's incredulous expression as she faded from his sight. _But they will likely never know the true reason!_

Satisfied she had planted her seeds of chaos on fertile soil, she remanded the growth and education of the child Do'Urden to the back of her consciousness, turning her attention to the dispensation of justice upon an unsuccessful House coup in Ust Natha.


	4. Chapter Four

Many things occupied Lolth's mind for the next decade, not the least of which was the complete and utter destruction of the Cult of Vhaeraun in Sschindylryn. There was also a full-scale civil war in Ust Natha, following the escape of several drow from justice. The drow outpost beneath the surface lands of Amn and Tethyr had the distinct misfortune of being right next to the lair of a great silver dragon, who often meddled in their affairs.

Then, of course, there were the day-to-day duties that were required of a goddess. Sacrifices had to be accepted from families seeking to placate her hunger for souls, as well as punishments meted out to those who had incurred her wrath. Yochlols were sent out to the City of the Dead to retrieve faithful souls from the watch of Myrkul, and to bargain for the release of the unfaithful to Lolth's merciless demons.

It was the retrieval of one of these faithless souls that caught Lolth's attention. The secret worship Hezeth Nez-Varniss had harbored for Ghaundahaur had finally been discovered and the foolish young apprentice had attempted to flee the city of Menzoberranzan. He was cornered by a patrol and slain before he'd reached the lake of Donigarten.

Suddenly the dark goddess recalled having bestowed the stolen power of spellfire on the youngest son of the Ninth House of that same city. Her powerful gaze flew to House Do'Urden, but she didn't see Drizzt there. For a moment, she was confused, having forgotten how quickly time passed on the Material Plane, but she soon directed her thoughts to Sorcere. The youngest Do'Urden was not there, either.

Had the youngest son met with his demise? For a moment, Lolth considered the traitorous Zaknafein. Had the weapon master slain the boy in a "training accident?" No, that hardly seemed possible, given the child's apparent innate skill with blades... In growing horror, her consciousness swept back to Tier Breche, the Academy of Menzoberranzan.

If Lolth had been mortal, she would have moaned in dismay. There, fighting with fury in the grand melee at the fighter's school, Melee Magthere, was Drizzt Do'Urden. Though the young warrior's prowess with his chosen weapons was truly heartening--and against students two years his senior!--Lolth felt a stab of anger that her chosen instrument of war was not where she had planned for him to be. Foolish Malice!

Her ire quickly turned to the Matron Mother of the Ninth House. Malice had sent the child to Melee Magthere and not Sorcere, despite her family needing a wizard of greater aptitude than her present patron, Rizzen. Having witnessed the boy's skill at the grand melee, the logical aspect of Lolth could appreciate Malice's choice... but rarely was Lolth logical. Malice Do'Urden had upset her plans, though there still remained the chance they could be salvaged.

Her consciousness raced back to Drizzt Do'Urden, noting in passing his elation at having defeated all his opponents, but in search of something far deeper. The Thread was still as wide as ever, but much of it was darkened and as useless as a vestigial limb. Only a thin line remained bright, allowing for the casting of the three innate spells the young drow possessed, but of this, too, Lolth was barely aware.

At last, she found the tiny spark of spellfire within Drizzt's mind, and was dismayed to note that it had not grown any in size. Perhaps the power was not usable by a dark elf? She dismissed that idea immediately, deciding that it was merely this particular drow with whom spellfire was incompatible. Resolving to transfer the spark to Masoj Hun'ett, whose presence she'd touched in her journey through Sorcere, Lolth reached toward the silver flame and pulled.

The spark did not move. She tried again, but the essence of spellfire hardly even quivered. Exasperated, Lolth "grasped" the mystical energy and tugged harder.. but to no avail. Then, inexplicably, the spark vanished completely. She searched within his mind, but it took her not long at all to determine that it was not there any longer.

Now the Queen of the Demonweb Pits was truly angry, as much at herself as anyone else. In her haste to protect the power of spellfire from being torn from her in the inevitable exile of the gods, she'd allowed herself to gift it to a child who had no desire to learn the arcane arts. Drizzt's words on the day she'd bestowed the power upon him stung her wounded ego even more. "I'm going to be a warrior one day," he'd said, and the spirited child had been right!

Her anger shifted again, this time directed at Zaknafein Do'Urden. Upon reflection, she recalled his softly whispered exclamation in the hallway on the Festival of the Founding.

"My son..."

Lolth hissed in anger. The wretched weapon master had done this! She knew, without doubt, that Zaknafein was responsible for the boy being sent to Melee Magthere--the signs of the elder Do'Urden's training were evident in every graceful motion of the padded poles Drizzt wielded in the grand melee.

Again, she changed focus, enraged that Matron Malice had been so foolish as to heed the advice of a drow who had so often proven himself a blasphemer and traitor. Foolish Malice! Lolth decided, then, that the matron of the Ninth House deserved to be punished, and the wicked goddess soon determined the means of her punishment.

Within Malice's womb were the beginnings of another child--a rarity for a matron just beginning her sixth century, and even more rare for following a mere twenty years after the birth of her last child. The babe would be a daughter, but Lolth's desire to punish Malice was greater than her desire to see another potential high priestess born to the powerful House Do'Urden. Even as she considered the deed, Lolth discovered that the sire was not Malice's husband Rizzen, but Zaknafein! Not wanting to waste an opportunity to punish both of the dark elves who had so angered her, she ruthlessly crushed the embryonic life.

Other deific duties called, and Lolth's direct attention turned once more from Menzoberranzan, her thirst for vengeance, for the moment, sated.


	5. Chapter Five

She should have known better. The surface-dwellers had a few wonderful expressions for moments like these, and Lolth bitterly rolled each one through her deific mind. _The acorn never falls far from the tree. Just a chip off the old stone._

_Like father, like son._

Drizzt Do'Urden travelling to the surface for a raid against a tribe of moon elves should have been a triumphant occassion, and Lolth longed to see her chosen weapon against her foes unleash the power of spellfire he contained within him. She ached to watch the infidels burn to cinders. But no silver flames came forth--did he, indeed, have it any longer?--and Drizzt Do'Urden killed no elves. Instead, he saved one, a girl child.

Logically, Lolth could have placed the blame on herself, for making such a hasty choice: a score of years had passed since she'd made the fateful error of giving the power of spellfire to the young drow. She could also have blamed Matron Malice for sending him to Melee Magthere, not Sorcere. Lolth was rarely logical, of course, so it was upon Zaknafein's shoulders she deposited her anger, and Matron Malice would know of her displeasure soon enough. With a sharp gesture, she sent a Handmaiden to tell the plotting matron of House Hun'ett, who desired the fall of the ambitious Ninth House, that a member of House Do'Urden had grievously erred.

Upon returning to their home Drizzt Do'Urden's older brother, Dinin, proudly told his family of his own successes in battle against the surface elves, and the brutal "slaying" of the elf child by Drizzt. Though Lolth knew the truth of the girl's fall in the battle, Dinin's erroneous statement produced a satisfyingly disgusted expression on Zaknafein's handsome features. She recalled how the weapon master despised the necessary murder of noble children in the perpetual power struggles in Menzoberranzan... and now he believed his own son to be a child-killer.

The youngest Do'Urden cast his sire a glance that bespoke a thousand hate-filled words. So Drizzt, so very like his father, despised the elder dark elf? Lolth cared not why, she was too thrilled with the sudden turn of events. This conflict would come to blows, she knew, a battle between master and student--each challenging his own fears of what he saw in the other. Drizzt would win, she decided, and at long last the traitorous Zaknafein would be dead, defeated--in the greatest of drow ironies--by his own son!

Just as she had foreseen, the two powerful warriors met in the halls of House Do'Urden. There, they exchanged harsh words veiled with half-hearted tones of friendship, agreeing to meet after Drizzt's patrol returned again and settle their dispute. Each went away vowing to himself that he would slay the other, slay the monster.

So great were the ironies of the impending duel to death that Lolth could only marvel at the circumstances that precipitated this fight. She would have loved to have followed the thoughts and moods of both warriors every hour until their fated battle, but the duties of a dark goddess called, and Lolth delighted in answering.

House Hun'ett, having plotted and schemed for nearly thirty years, had finally been rewarded for their patience. Lolth disapproved of their choice of first strike--her precious spellfire-wielder--but she wouldn't deny them the death of the youngest son of House Do'Urden. The opportunity for the strike came swiftly for Masoj Hun'ett, who above all others in his family truly hated Drizzt. Having sensed this budding rivalry years ago, Lolth urged the proud mage to greater levels of hatred, for she had long desired to see the two young drow battle one another for supremacy!

On patrol in the caverns outside Menzoberranzan, Drizzt and Masoj's group encountered a roving band of svirfneblin miners. The deep gnomes, as was their standard battle tactic, summoned a great earth elemental to slow their drow pursuers and fled. Though their companions gave chase, Drizzt and Masoj stayed behind to battle the earth elemental. Caution led Masoj to conceal himself with an invisibility spell while the younger dark elf and the mage's pet panther attacked the elemental together.

Minutes later, the fight was going well for the secondboy of House Do'Urden, despite the loss of the panther. Masoj was becoming restless, but then Lolth gave him an idea. Withdrawing a bar of silver from his component pouch, the young wizard sent a bolt of lightning flying across the cavern. A portion of the blast struck the weakened elemental, but the majority hit Drizzt solidly. The young warrior was blasted from his feet and slammed against the wall, then he fell limply to the cavern floor. Satisfied with her work, Lolth gathered her will in the Abyss and waited for his soul to arrive in Myrkul's domain.

It did not. Merely stunned, Drizzt soon regained his feet, only to be clouted upside the head by a concealed svirfneblin and knocked flat once more.


	6. Chapter Six

Mercy! Of all terrible emotions to reveal, why did the damn Do'Urden show mercy? Lolth seethed when the charismatic second boy convinced his older brother to let the svirfneblin expedition leader go "as an example." Rubbish! It was mercy, pure and simple...

So, when Matron Malice dared to call upon her yochlol's again, the Handmaiden refused to answer her question. She wasn't entirely certain if the cunning Do'Urden male had understood the implications of Masoj Hun'ett's attack, but it hardly mattered: House Do'Urden would know _soon enough_ who was attacking them.

She was pleased, however, by the angry glares filling the air between the weapon master and his son. As soon as Malice released them from audience they would battle, she knew, and she eagerly anticipated the match. Lolth knew she would be spectator to one of the greatest battles of all time. No matter the outcome, she would be rid of one nuisance and the ambitions of the other sedated.

The second boy gasped out his suspicions of Masoj Hun'ett, Matron Malice dismissed the males back to their duties, and Drizzt and Zaknafein soon found one another. Licking demonic lips, Lolth focused her attention on the powerful combatants. They twirled and spun, their blades crashing with all the fury the two dark elves could hurl at each other. Such close observation allowed her to read the surface thoughts of each male, and she was disgusted to learn that they hated not one another, but the darkness that was perceived in their own hearts! Each was involved in a dance of death that had little to do with their emotions for one another.

Suddenly, Drizzt was caught off-guard and Zaknafein's blades were at his throat. In desperation, he cried out that he had not killed the surface elf. A faint flicker at the edge of her senses alerted her to the scryings of Matron Malice and her daughter Briza, but Lolth barely noticed.

She could taste Drizzt's blood on the edge of the blade.

Zaknafein threw his weapon aside and embraced his son, crying out his relief at his "survival." Horrified by that most un-drowish display of paternal affection, Lolth returned her consciousness to the Abyss. How dare they! Had she not given Drizzt the greatest gift ever bestowed upon a worthless male? He'd not touched the spellfire, he'd not channeled even an eighth of his potential power!

_Kill Drizzt,_ she ordered Masoj Hun'ett. _He wanders outside of the city this night... wait for him near Donigarten._

The defiant soul of Zaknafein she received gleefully, ordering not one but two yochlols assigned to giving him his proper punishment for forsaking her. So distracted was she by the prospect of the willful weapon master being tormented, she forgot the impending showdown between the wizard and the warrior.

Lolth was painfully reminded when the souls of Alton DeVir and Masoj Hun'ett arrived in her demesne.


	7. Chapter Seven

Decades passed, and only once was the blood of the renegade male any closer to tasting than it had been in his duel with his father. But he escaped Matron Baenre's clutches, and the magnificent domed roof of House Baenre's chapel was shattered by the rogue's human companion. Then, as though the traitorous drow had been a foul Harbinger, the Time of Troubles was upon her. Her efforts to preserve the spellfire were in vain, as Drizzt clearly no longer possessed the spark. Thirty years had passed since he was last in her city and never had he used his gift!

Lolth lost much of her power after that. The new god of death, Cyric, was too ambitious and insane to bargain with, and his successor was too strict. Thenceforth, no unfaithful souls could be taken to the Abyss by sacrifice, as Kelemvor would release such a soul only to the archon of the deity that was favored by the victim. Even _if_ one of her faithful could recapture Drizzt, he was promised to Mielikki, the cursed goddess of the forests--who had stolen Zaknafein's soul from her during the confusion following the Time of Troubles--a personal gesture toward the ranger who was so rapidly becoming one of her favored worshippers.

It was years before Lolth came upon a new idea. Certain spells and artifacts were designed to suck souls from corporeal shells and seal them in a container. After all, wasn't that how Matron Baenre had kept the spirit of Gandalug Battlehammer for so many years?

So she set about "leaving" such a device in the path of one who could--and more importantly would--use it on Drizzt Do'Urden. Then Lolth would command her faithful servant to open a portal to the Abyss and step through with her prize! Pleased with her handiwork, she turned her attention to the punishment of the entire drow race, determined to repay them all for having so little faith.

Little did the wicked Spider Queen know, not _all_ her plans were secret. Upon the surface of Abeir-Toril, on the continent known as Faerûn, in the kingdom known as the Silver Marches... something else stirred, its focus the life, mind, and soul of the one it protected.

Deep in his ranger's heart, the spark of spellfire stirred.


End file.
